


Bad Religion

by oceanofdarkness



Series: Deadly Virtues [1]
Category: Operation: Endgame (2010), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: F/M, Priest Kink Crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanofdarkness/pseuds/oceanofdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remix of The Tournament with Hierophant in place of LaiLai Zhen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Religion

**Author's Note:**

> Smutty little crackfic plot bunny that got out of hand.  
> And three shall be the number of the counting...
> 
>  
> 
> Many enthusiastic thank yous to bloodydeath11 for the lovely art work!

 

The priest looks up to the large wooden cross above the altar and rolls his eyes with a sheepish resignation,  _“I know,”_  then pulls the bottle free of his jacket, hands shaking as he reaches to unscrew the cap.

“Hard liquor in the house of the Lord?”

The voice that comes from behind him is that of a young woman, the syrupy drawl of a thick southern accent, and the priest mutters a quiet  _‘fuck’_  under his breath when the bottle hits the floor and shatters. He turns to look back at red stilettos anchoring shapely legs encased in black fishnet and quickly raises his eyes to find himself looking into a pair of striking blue ones over the barrel of a gun.

“Better than guns,” he stammers. He falls back onto the steps of the altar, putting his hands up as though he might ward off her bullet. To his surprise, the pretty blonde nods, curls bouncing with the bobbing of her head.

“I don’t really like guns usually. I’m more of a hands on kind of girl, you know? But I thought I might find one useful today.”

“Today?”

“Well, you know, what with the tournament and all?”

 He shakes his head, trying desperately to make some sense of the situation. “Tournament? I don’t...”

“Oh come on, Darlin’, there’s no need to play dumb with me,” she chides. “I can see you right here plain as day.” She holds out a tracking device with three bright points displayed on a screen and suddenly jerks her head around, swinging her gun in the same direction, as a large man who seems to have appeared from nowhere tosses something at her feet. She fires one shot and kicks whatever he has just thrown back at him as he drops to his knees, blood spurting from between the fingers that are now clutched around his throat.

The blonde dives behind the nearest pew calling out,  _“I’d take cover if I were you!”_ just as the explosion shatters the windows along the west wall of the church, sending glass and splintered pews flying, along with fragments of the man who had interrupted them. The priest curls into a ball, bringing his arms up to cover his head and turning his back to the blast.

“Now, where were we?”

He looks up to see the petite blonde standing over him again, gun pointed back down at him. 

“You just shot that man without a word.”

She nods, curls once again bouncing innocently in contrast to the disturbing little giggle that accompanies the acknowledgment. 

“See, I said a gun would come in handy today. What about you, Darlin? What do you like to use?”

“What do I... to do what?”

“Well, kill of course. You are a funny one... and cute as a bug too!” She nibbles at her lower lip as her eyes run over him in blatant appraisal. “Its a shame I have to kill you. I think I might like to keep you around for awhile.” 

“Kill me?” He pulls back, obviously horrified. “Why?”

“Those are the rules, Silly. I think I told you playin' dumb is really not gonna change that.”

“Please,” he begins, his voice breaking on the word. “I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. What rules?”

She looks at him for a long minute, her eyes locked onto his while he concentrates on not looking away. 

“Stand up, Darlin'.”  She takes a step back as he pushes himself up, then once he's standing in front of her, “You  _really_  don't know what's going on here?” 

He’s shaking his head frantically. “No fucking clue.”

“I wanna believe you, I really do, but you understand I need to be sure... I'm afraid you're gonna have to take off your shirt for me.”

“Take off...  _what_?”

She waves the gun impatiently. “Your shirt, Darlin'. Take it off, and don't make me ask again. I don't have all day.”

Hands shaking, he proceeds to do as she has demanded, fear causing him to fumble with the garment, but he finally manages. When his shirt is in his hand she moves closer to him, the gun now at her side, and runs her free hand down along his chest to ghost across his ribs. Her eyes follow her fingers as they play over his skin, but they come up to meet his when his breath hitches at the feel of her nails scraping his stomach, a slow and wicked little smile spreading along her bright red lips.

“No scar,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “You  _are_  telling the truth, aren't you? You really don't know what's goin' on.” 

He shakes his head, eyes fixed on hers. “No.” His voice is so soft he hardly makes a sound at all.

“You really are a priest?”

“Yes.” It comes out with only the ghost of a sound, and he clears his throat to try again. “Yes,” he hears the tremble in it, but his voice is clearer this time. “Father MacAvoy. This is... was my church.”

_____________________________

They are standing in a public phone booth. He’d tried to tell her she could use the phone at the rectory, but she’d been adamant that they get away from the church as quickly as possible. He hears her ask to speak with someone named Powers, then she waits for what seems like ages.

He’s nervous, looking around with quick, jerks of his head, stepping in and out of the phone booth. He notices a boy and a girl playing with a ball which rolls over to a Jeep parked at the curb. An attractive woman in very high heels and a very short skirt opens the door and steps out to throw the ball back to the children, leaning over provocatively as she picks it up. He finds himself staring, but looks away when she glances over to the phone booth. The blonde shakes her head with a disapproving roll of her eyes.

 _“Really, Father?”_ She gestures over to the woman with a dismissive tilt of her chin and mutters,  _“Trouble, nothin’ but trouble,”_ then the phone in her hand has her full attention again.

“We have a problem... “ she begins.

He’s standing close enough to pick up most of the other end of the conversation, but it does nothing to reassure him.

“There’s no problem, Hierophant.” Well, at least now he knows her name. “You know the rules. It’s kill or be killed. Surely all that wet work for the CIA taught you to embrace the concept of collateral damage? He’s just one of those famous innocent bystanders you hear about.”

“I  _will not_  kill a man of  _God_  just because he’s havin’ a bad day!” 

“I don’t see why not.” He can just barely hear the smug voice through the receiver. “Back in the day, they used to throw Christians to the lions... seems that history is repeating itself. Carry him or kill him, Hierophant, but don’t call back.”

She slams the phone back into place with a murderous glare then looks up at the sound of an engine revving to life. He barely has time to register that the Jeep is barreling towards them before she grabs him by the arm and pulls him out of the phone booth, both of them spilling onto the pavement as the driver crashes into it, crushing metal and sending glass flying. Hierophant is on her feet before the driver can turn the Jeep around, and she plants herself in a shooting stance, legs apart, raising her gun and training it on the approaching car.

She rolls her eyes and says, “What did I tell you? Trouble.”

This hardly seems like the time. but he finds himself muttering,  _“I wasn’t...”_  but goes quiet with the sound of the first gunshot. 

“Of course you were, Darlin’.” A second shot shatters the windshield. She does not take her eyes off the Jeep. “You’re just a priest, after all, nobody’s cut it off.” The third shot takes out a tire and the Jeep goes out of control, flipping over several times and barely missing them as it skids to a stop on the asphalt, smoke and flames pouring out from the undercarriage which is currently turned up to the sky.

“We need to move, Darlin’.” Hierophant tugs at his arm and heads off. He’s about to follow after her when he hears the screams and turns back towards the Jeep instead, moving over to it and kneeling down to peer inside through a broken window. The woman is frantic, screaming and struggling to pull herself from the burning car.  _“Seatbelt!”_  she wails, and he reaches in to fumble with the catch in an effort to free her. The belt lets go and he’s reaching in through the window to pull her out when suddenly there’s a gun in his face. He flinches back and stares in horror as the woman smirks and says,  _“Wrong day to be a good samaritan.”_  He barely has the thought to offer up a prayer when the woman’s head snaps back with the force of the bullet that goes through her forehead, the gun pointed at him falling to her side. He knows what he’ll find when he turns even before he hears the honeyed drawl behind him.

“I thought I told you we need to move, Darlin’.”

He looks over his shoulder to find his little blonde protector lowering her gun. She is quite a sight... no more than five foot three or four, she seems to tower over him. She’s in a tiny black skirt that falls well above her knees to display more than a little of the black fishnet stockings covering her shapely legs, and above the skirt is a sweet little white button down open to reveal a generous amount of cleavage and a cardigan that matches the bright red of her stilettos and her lips. He shakes his head at the thought that she should look like nothing so much as a naughty Catholic school girl who happens to be holding a loaded gun, but at the moment manages to look like the most imposing warrior he might ever hope to see. The contradiction is oddly compelling.

“Now!” Her voice startles him out of his thoughts and sends him scrambling away from the Jeep, allowing her to push him ahead of her for a moment. “This chivalry is, like, really sweet and all, but if I’m gonna keep you alive, you are gonna have to do as I say.”

“What’s going on?” he stammers.

“Well, you’ve got like, this bug inside you and they think you’re a target. We really need to try and get it out if we can.”

“Target?” he repeats, a shrill note in his voice that he doesn’t care for at all.

“You kinda stumbled into a competition for hit men, Darlin’,” She says it so casually. “Last person standing wins. That’s the game.” She shrugs and tries to pick up their pace, but he stops dead still and gapes at her. 

“A game? Where people  _kill_  each other?”

“Well, yeah, ‘fraid so, and if we don’t find a way to get that thing out of you, people are  _totally_  gonna keep comin’ for you.”

“Can’t we just go to the police?” he begs.

“It doesn’t really work that way.” Her inflection makes it sound almost like a question. “The people in charge of this thing are  _way_  more powerful than the police,” She punctuates this assertion with a dramatic roll of her eyes, “and they are really gonna  want to keep this secret, you know? You’re just gonna have to trust me to keep you safe, Darlin’... but don’t you worry about a thing. I am  _very good_  at what I do.”

She tries again to lead him forward, but he grabs her by the wrist and holds his ground.

“ _Secret?_  What about the bodies?”

“Oh, well that’s easy. They can totally make it look like a car crash, or some nut job with a gun, or, like, a terrorist attack... they can explain all that away just fine.” She tosses a hand up with a dismissive wave.

“That’s insane!” 

“Of course it is, Darlin’.” She’s taken on the tone one might use to calm a small child. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

He might have argued the point further, but the flames finally reach the gas tank of the overturned Jeep and the blast sends them reeling back. Hierophant takes advantage of the fact that she has him moving again and shoves him ahead of her.

“We just can’t stay here, Darlin’. I know you still got a ton of questions, but we seriously gotta move.”

_________________________

“Nothing’s coming up,” he snaps. They are currently in an alley while he tries to make himself puke behind a dumpster. “How can you even be sure I swallowed the damn thing?”

“Well I just don’t know how else it would’ve managed to get inside you otherwise. Try it again.” She moves over to him, resting a hand on his back as he bends over and forces his fingers down his throat in an attempt to bring up the tracker she’s convinced he has swallowed. She is focused on the tiny screen she holds in her other hand as she absently rubs between his shoulders when he manages to make himself retch without success. “Do it again, Darlin’, but we really need to hurry with this. We’re not gonna be safe here for long.”

 _“FUCK!_ ” He pulls away from her and slams his palm into the side of the dumpster. “Everybody thinks I’m a hitman?” She nods but he rushes on before she can actually say anything. “Everyone wants me dead?” She nods again. “ _FUCK!”_ He rakes a hand through his hair, and slides down into a crouch, leaning back against the metal container and dropping his head into his hands. “ I don’t want to die!” He hears the rising note of panic in his voice but has no idea how to stop it. “I have no idea how to cope with this!”

He is vaguely aware that Hierophant is crouching down in front of him, her hands reaching out to pull his own away from his face.  _“Look at me!”_ She barks the words, and he jerks his head up to meet her clear blue eyes. They are not without sympathy. “I can keep you safe, but you are gonna have to hold it together, okay?” He just stares at her, desperation etched across his features. “Trust me, Darlin’. Can you do that?” He has no more reason to trust her than she has to protect him, but he sees in her unwavering stare that she means to do just that. He nods slowly, forcing himself to take a deep breath. 

She moves a hand to his arm to help him up just as the police car pulls into the alley. He scrambles to his feet with a muttered,  _“Oh, thank God!”_  The officer opens the door and steps out, but before the priest can say anything, he finds yet another gun pointed at him. 

“Nice outfit, Father.”

He’s still trying to process this while Hierophant is aiming her own weapon, but the officer falls before she can get off a shot. She drops to a crouch at the side of the car, pulling him down with her, and she’s checking the screen in her other hand when the first bullet hits the vehicle.

“What now?” That shrill tone is back, but this time he can’t bring himself to care.

“I’m not really sure, but we need to get out of here  _now.”_ She tugs open one of the squad car’s doors and tries to shove him inside.

“But an officer’s been shot,” he stammers. She pushes him into the car and shoos him across the seat as she climbs in after him.

“Try to follow along, Darlin’. When was the last time you saw a police officer train a gun on a priest for no good reason?”

“You mean he’s a fucking hitman too?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on.” She’s focused on getting the car in gear and out of the line of fire, though according to the device she’s laid on the seat, there should be no one else in the alley with them.

“Why would anybody take part in this madness?”

She glances over her shoulder and starts backing around the dumpster.

“Well, there’s all sorts of reasons...  the prize money, the title, maybe some kind of revenge, just plain excitement... take your pick.”

“So what’s your reason?” he demands. She shoots him an exasperated look and turns back to guiding the car.

“Do you want me to answer your questions or would you rather I get you away from the bullets, Darlin’? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little busy right now.”

Her head jerks around at the thud of impact when the man jumps onto the hood of the car. He’s in a crouch, gun in hand, and she slams on the breaks to throw him off balance. He topples over, falling to the pavement when she hits the gas again, barreling back towards the end of the alley as the first bullet strikes the windshield. The glass cracks in a jagged pattern, snaking out from the point of impact, but holds as the priest ducks and brings his arms up over his head. The man is scrambling to his feet, still firing at the police car as Hierophant slams the car back into drive and floors it, picking up speed and aiming directly for the shooter. He dives behind the metalwork of a fire escape, barely dodging the patrol car, and the blonde slams a hand against the wheel in frustration.

“Son of a bitch!” she growls. “Fucking Bogart!”

For a moment MacAvoy thinks she will back up, go after him again, but she floors it and speeds out of the alley, tires screeching as she turns onto the main street and speeds away.

“Bogart?” the priest asks. “Is that his name?”

“Yeah, tricky bastard, too,” she mutters.

“I’ve seen him before.” MacAvoy offers, and her head snaps around.

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Yes. He was in the cafe this morning.”

“He cut it out.” She’s shaking her head, blonde curls bouncing again. “Well, he’s the one to thank for all this,” she announces.

“He  _knew_? He was willing to sacrifice an innocent bystander to win a  _fucking game_? Who are you people?”

“Well, don’t paint me with that brush, Darlin’. That is  _totally_  unfair. I’m the one who’s been watchin’ out for your ass all day.”

He opens his mouth to speak, then promptly shuts it and drops his head into his hands. He manages a couple of deep breaths before combing his fingers back through his hair and looking up at her again.

“What now?”

“Now? Well, if we can’t get that thing out of you, we’re just gonna have to wait until it passes through your system.” She says it like there’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on here, and it makes him want to scream. “We’ll just head out of town, I guess. The farther we go, the weaker the signal will be, so that should buy us a little time.” She looks over at him with a reassuring smile. “Try not to worry, Darlin’. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” Looking into those bright blue eyes, he almost believes her.

_________________________

He’s lost track of how long they’ve been driving, but he knows it’s been hours because it’s gotten dark. Hiero, she prefers it to her full name, had tried to carry on a conversation at first, but he’d been too distracted to concentrate on anything except his own swirling thoughts and she’d eventually given up. He is currently staring out the window trying to summon the will to pray and failing miserably. His head is pounding, his hands shaking, probably every bit as much from adrenaline as the fact that he hasn’t had a drink since his unlikely protector surprised him in the church this morning. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath.

“I need a drink.”

The little blonde glances over and shakes her head, curls dancing about her face.

“You know you have a lot of bad habits for a priest... drinking, language, impure thoughts...” 

“Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Character assessment from the assassin.”

“No need to get your panties in a knot, Darlin’,” the pretty blonde drawls. “I was just makin’ conversation.”

“Of course!” He spits the words out with all of the frustration of this bloody horrid day. “Because who  _doesn’t_  think that having an inventory of all their flaws recited to them by a  _fucking hit man_  is a good conversation starter?”

“See, there you go with the language again. Do you do that in church?”

“Good Lord!” He runs a shaky hand back through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “I  _really_  need a drink.”

“And there’s two,” she announces, throwing a hand up into the air. “Wanna go for three, Darlin'?”  She reaches over and drops the hand on his thigh, red nails standing out against the black of his trousers when his gaze goes to his lap, her fingers tracing a lazy arc up and down his leg. It takes him a moment to register, and then he looks up at her. She raises her eyebrows suggestively and a sultry smile curls along her full lips. Well, she's got what she was aiming for. The thought of the pretty little blonde on  her knees in front of him with those lovely red lips wrapped around his cock most definitely qualifies as impure. 

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that you’re trying to seduce a priest while discussing proper behavior for a man of God?”

“Not really, but I guess I see your point.” She withdraws her hand and offers him another smile. “We should probably save that for later anyway, Darlin’, couldn’t really give you my, um...” She pauses to nibble at her lip again. “... full attention right now.”

He shakes his head, then turns it to stare out the window, surprising himself when he begins to speak.

“I’m not a very good priest,” he admits. “I haven’t been for awhile.” As soon as he hears the words, he realizes he might have chosen the wrong timing for that particular confession, and hurries to change the subject before she can respond. “Hiero, how does a girl like you become an assassin?”

She shrugs. “That’s what the CIA recruited me for. They decided they could exploit certain... tendencies that kinda raised a few flags. I mean, I’m just a girl from a small town, I wouldn’t have thought to go to work for Alpha if they hadn’t come to me. Still, I do think it’s important to find something you enjoy, you know? I mean, I don’t think I’d be nearly as good at it as I am if I didn’t like what I do.”

“You  _enjoy_  killing?” 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I used to  _really_  like my job, but then things sorta went bad fast, and I mean  _fast_. That’s why I’m here, actually... it’s pretty hard to disappear when the CIA is lookin’ for you. It takes a whole lot more resources than I have, you know?”

“So you’ve entered this... contest for the money?”

“That,” she nods, curls bouncing again... and that should  _not_  be as distracting as it is, “and to keep myself sharp and all? This is not a line of work where you wanna get out of practice.” 

“You do know, that  _Thou shalt not kill_ is one of the commandments?”

“Of course.” She glances over at him and rolls her eyes. “I  _have_   _read_  the bible. There’s plenty of killing in it, if you hadn’t noticed. Besides, I don’t think He would have given me a talent He didn’t intend for me to use.”

He’s searching for something to say to that when suddenly the absurdity of the situation hits him and he finds himself laughing, honestly laughing in spite of the events of the day and the impossible predicament he finds himself in. The pretty blonde joins him with a puzzled shake of her head after shooting him a bemused look. Her laugh is actually a charming little snort... and isn’t it just lovely that he finds the assassin’s laugh charming?

“I’m still not quite sure what to make of you, Darlin’.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you.” He finds himself almost grinning at her in spite of his best efforts. “You’re like some kind of twisted guardian angel.”

“I’m no angel, Darlin’... but the Lord does work in mysterious ways.”

“Well, He certainly doesn’t have to explain himself to the likes of me, but I would  _love_  to hear what He had in mind this time!”

“Maybe  _you_  were meant to be  _my_  guardian angel.”

“Right...” he scoffs, “... because I’ve been so very helpful.”

She looks over at him with an indulgent smile and considers for a moment before speaking again.

“I have this tendency to get ahead of myself...  and that can make a person do stupid things sometimes. The quickest way to get killed in my line of work is to make a bad decision. I had to make myself stop and think today instead of rushin’ into things I might’ve believed I could handle because it was the only way to keep you alive. So, maybe keeping you alive, is keeping me alive too. He coulda’, like, put you in the middle of all this to slow me down and keep me safe.”

He has no idea how to respond to that. He’d like to tell her that it makes no sense, but finds that he can’t. It makes as much sense as anything else has today.

They lapse into silence once again, and he must have been lulled to sleep in the dark car because all of a sudden he jerks awake in the parking lot of a convenience store and looks over to find the tiny blonde opening the door slowly, gun in hand, as she watches a man approach the patrol car.

“Stay put, Darlin’. I got this.”

She holds the gun down in front of her but keeps both hands on it, ready to raise it and open fire. The man is holding his own gun the same way as they move toward one another.

“Where is he, Hiero?” the man asks.

“Where’s who, Joshua?”

“Bogart.”

“Last I saw Bogart, he was shootin’ at me in an alley back in Middlesbrough.”

“Why didn’t you kill him then?” 

They are circling each other now, Joshua trying to maneuver around her to get a clear shot at the car.

“Tried to run the sonofabitch down, but he dodged me.” 

“Tracker says he’s in the car, Hiero.”

“He must’ve cut it out, managed to get it in the good Father over there.” 

She steps aside, gestures toward the patrol car. He peers in MacAvoy’s direction, and the priest tries not to flinch.

“A priest?”

She shrugs. “Guess he was handy. Why Bogart, Joshua?”

They’ve stopped their cautious dance around the car and are standing still, muscles tensed, alert for any sign of movement. Silence between them as he considers.

“Miles tells me he’s the one who killed my wife.” The man pauses for a moment, mouth set in a hard line. “I want some answers before I put the bastard down.”

“I heard about that,” Hiero says quietly. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Joshua.”

Before the man can reply, a shot strikes the pavement between them and they both fall into a crouch beside the patrol car. Joshua checks the tracker in his pocket while Hiero returns fire.

“Must be him,” Joshua announces. “Only the three of us here.”

“Then you better go get your answers,” she says. “I’ll cover you till you get out of the lot.”

He nods, mutters a gruff  _“Thanks”,_ and runs for a dark corner of the parking lot while several bullets strike the side of the car and Hiero fires in the direction of the shooter. Eventually the shooting stops and she stands and pulls the car door open, leaning in.

“You ok, Darlin’?”

“I haven’t been shot, if that’s what you mean.”

She snorts a laugh. “You’re fine.”

“That was surprisingly civil before the shooting started,” the priest observes.

There is a decidedly indignant note in her honeyed drawl when she replies.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember the rule that says assassins can’t have good manners. The man just lost his wife.”

“This all makes perfect sense to you, doesn’t it?”

“I have had  _way_  stranger days than this!” She declares this with a roll of her eyes and a dismissive wave of her hand. “Look, we’re almost empty.” She gestures to the gas pumps. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, you just stay put.”

He stares after her as she goes inside, forehead pressed against the car’s window, then  suddenly sits up straight clasping his hands in front of him. He concentrates on his breathing for a minute, reaching for calm.

“Please, God,” he begins softly, “help me through this. Please give me some strength.” He pauses obviously struggling and then suddenly his voice rises to a frustrated shout, “Because I need a drink!” He slams a hand against the dash, and the glove box drops open. Apparently the Lord is in the mood to answer prayers this evening because there’s a fifth in the glove compartment. The priest looks to the heavens, crosses himself, and snatches the bottle.  He makes quick work of opening it and tipping it back shaking his head as he replaces the cap. 

He hears the car door open and mutters “I know, bad habit for a priest but this is  _not_  the day to quit drinking.”  He looks up expecting to see disapproval and perhaps just a hint of bemused indulgence in those blue eyes of hers and instead finds himself looking into the face of a madman. His eyes are wild and he looks as though he’s been badly burned. He is holding a very large hunting knife. MacAvoy flinches back against the car door but the stranger reaches forward, bringing the knife up to his cheek. 

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned.”

The priest hears the madman drawl the words as he feels the sting of the knife, the warm trickle of blood along his skin. The pressure of the blade increases and then disappears as the man is snatched away from him and out of the car. Hiero has the man by the throat forcing him away from the car and back toward the gas pumps, but he manages to turn and ends up shoving her into one of them. He advances but she neatly dodges him, snatching the nozzle from a pump and bringing it up against the side of his head. The man goes down and the tiny blonde presses her advantage with a swift kick to his face that sends him scrambling backwards in an attempt to dodge her long enough to get to his feet. He manages to rise, but she is already barreling towards him, tackling him at a full run and sending them both crashing through the glass front of the service station.

MacAvoy takes another rushed drink from the bottle before tossing it back into the glove compartment and getting out of the car to follow the pair inside. When he walks through the door he sees the madman shoving his protector into a cooler filled with beer and wine and hears the bottles clattering and breaking as she falls back into them. The man advances on her and Hiero kicks out, aiming for his chest, but he is too quick for her this time. He catches her foot and twists it, wrenching her ankle. She goes down, and the man is hovering over her with the knife in his hand almost before she can hit the floor. 

“I heard you were a little wildcat,” the man announces in his thick Texas drawl, bringing the knife up underneath her jaw. “I thought you’d be more of a challenge than this.” The priest watches as Hiero tries to find the leverage to throw him off, but he has her pinned under him, arms clamped at her sides. 

“We’re not done yet,” she spits at him.

“Oh, I think we are, Sugar. It’s a shame I can’t take a little more time with  _you_. I bet you’d put up a  _good_  fight.” He leers down at her as she struggles underneath his weight and reaches into his pocket, drawing out a cigar cutter. “You know I usually like to take a trigger finger as a little souvenir, but I think maybe with a pretty little thing like you I might take a nipple instead.” He moves the knife down to the neck of her blouse, and the priest is moving before he even understands what he means to do. He snatches a wine bottle from the cooler and brings it down over the back of the Texan’s head. The force is enough to shatter the glass but not enough to knock the man out. It  _is_  enough to  leave him disoriented and to allow Hiero to throw him off balance and claim the knife. She forces him to the floor amidst shards of broken glass, the knife at his throat and a sweet smile on her lips as MacAvoy stumbles back out of the way.

“You were sayin’...” She brings her knee up into his groin before straddling him. “...  _Sugar_?” She has one of his hands pinned at his side, the other she brings over his head before driving the knife through the palm and into the floor as the man whimpers beneath her. She picks up the cigar cutter that has fallen beside him and gives an experimental snip at the air in front of his face. “What was all that about trigger fingers again? That was just fuckin' fascinating.” She brings his free hand up in front of her and  fits his finger in against the blade. “Like this?” He howls when she snips the finger off, blood shooting from the stump where it had been. “I can see how you might find that satisfying.” Her drawl is sweet and almost soothing as she reaches for the neck of the shattered wine bottle and brings it to his throat. 

“Don’t!” The priest has moved closer his hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t.”

She doesn’t take her eyes from the man who is cradling his wounded hand against his chest and looking up at her with real fear in his eyes.

“You know the rules Darlin’... he’s gotta die.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

She sighs and tosses the broken bottle away, reaching into the waistband of her skirt for  her gun and training it on the sobbing hitman before standing up and backing away to stand next to the priest. She is favoring her left leg. The ankle is bad, soon she won’t be able to put any weight on it at all.

“I’m afraid I do, Darlin’.”

“Hiero...” he begins, but stops as a high pitched whine fills the small store front. It is coming from the man on the floor who begins to whimper, head snapping back and forth between them.  _“What the fuck is that!?”_   

Hiero grabs the priest by the arm and drags him back while the Texan squirms. The whine increases in volume and pitch, and then he simply explodes. For the second time that day, blood and bits of flesh come flying at him as MacAvoy turns his back and moves to shield the little blonde beside him from the worst of the mess.

“Back to the chivalry, Darlin’?” He realizes that he has his arms wrapped around the pretty blonde and steps back quickly, dropping them to his sides. “It wasn’t a complaint,” she drawls with a little pout. “You saved my life with that bottle, you know.” She reaches a hand up to his jaw tilting his head to get a better look at the gash along his cheek. “I don’t think that’ll need stitches but it might open up once or twice before the bleeding really stops.” She leans up, and he is sure she is going to bring her mouth to the wound when the phone on the counter rings.

The store clerk, still staring at what’s left of the Texan, rouses himself and picks up the receiver. He listens for a moment then holds it out to the priest.

“It’s for you.”

MacAvoy shoots a look at Hiero and moves to the counter to take the phone.

“Hello?”

“Father MacAvoy.” He recognizes the voice from the phone booth this afternoon. “We haven’t met, but I feel I know you intimately.”

The priest is not in the mood for niceties. “Oh, so you’re the sick fucker that’s running all this, are you?”

“Such profanity from a man of the cloth!” Powers, the priest thinks his names was, has a mocking tone that MacAvoy doesn’t care for at all. “I suggest you listen to me very carefully, Father. Since you deemed it necessary to interrupt what could have been a spectacular kill, I feel that I should clarify the rules a bit. There’s a time limit you really should take note of.”

“Time limit?” He glances over at Hiero.

“Indeed. You have four hours left Father. As you’ve just seen, that device inside of you is so much more than just a tracker. If more than one of you is left alive when the clock runs out, everyone will meet the same fate as your American friend. I believe you know the rest, Father, it’s kill or be killed.”

“I’m not gonna kill anybody.”

“Well, we shall have to wait and see if your faith is stronger than your desire to live, won’t we? Four hours, Father, and the clock is ticking.”

MacAvoy hears the click and slams the receiver back into it’s cradle. 

“That’s fucking perfect!” He spins around to find Hiero. “Did you know about this?”

“Yeah Darlin’, I did.”

“When were you planning to tell me?” he demands.

“Well, I was kinda sorta hopin’ I wouldn’t have to.” She limps over to him, a hand reaching out for his arm. “I was hopin’ we could get that thing out of you before time started to run out.”

He steps back out of her reach. “And if not, what then? Were you just gonna kill me? Surely you weren’t prepared to end up like that!” He waves an arm in the direction of the Texan and his gaze follows, truly taking in what’s left of the man for the first time. He can’t say whether it’s the total ruin of what used to be a human being, the metallic stench of blood filling his nostrils, or the thought of his protector turning on him, but he is suddenly bent over retching and has no trouble at all bringing up the meager contents of his stomach this time. The tracker spills out onto the floor in a flood of bile, flickers for a moment, and then goes dead.

“There you go!” The little blonde is standing beside him, hands on her hips and a smug set to her pretty mouth. “Plenty of time. If I’d told you we were on the clock this mornin’, Darlin’, I can guarantee you this would  _not_  have gone well.”

He cannot argue with that. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and straightens up. 

“So, what now?” he asks.

“Now?” she echos. “Now you’re out Darlin’. This isn’t your problem anymore. Good thing too... this ankle’s gonna give me hell. I’m not really in a position to protect you right now.”

“No, you’re not...” He moves to put an arm around her waist to help support her weight. “Now you’re gonna need my help.”

“You do understand this isn’t over right?”

“You think I’ve spent this entire day in the middle of a clusterfuck and can’t tell when it’s over?”

“Seriously, Darlin’, you don’t need to be here anymore.”

“I know that...” He looks down at her, “but here I am.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Help me get out to the car, and then you should go.”

“I’m not leaving you like this.” She starts to interrupt, but he cuts her off. “What kind of guardian angel would I be if I abandon you when you actually  _need_ me?” He meets her eyes, brows raised in a challenge, and she shakes her head with a resigned smile.

“Whatever you say, Darlin’. I think Joshua’s the only one left other than me. We need to figure out where he is...” She rolls her eyes and throws up her free hand. “... which we can’t do since the fuckin’ tracker blew up with Slade in there!”

“So we’re blind then?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“We’d better get moving.” He leads her out to the car, settling her in the passenger seat and going around to slide in behind the wheel. “What makes you so sure Joshua got the better of that Bogart fellow? He seemed pretty resourceful to me.”

“Trust me... it’s Joshua. And I’m gonna need an advantage since I can’t move like I should. I need some place I can get to first, take up a position and let him come to me.”

“There’s a church at the edge of town, no surveillance cameras. Will that do?”

_________________________

He brings the patrol car to a stop in front of the little church and looks over at the determined blonde in the passenger seat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I don’t have a choice Darlin’. You saw what happened to that Texas nutjob back there.” 

He nods and reaches to open the door, but she stops him with a hand on his arm. “I  _was_  gonna tell you Darlin’... if I had to.” He holds her steady gaze and eventually nods again and looks down at his lap.

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about that any more.”

“No, thank God,” she clears her throat, “But you’re gonna have to worry about Joshua if you stick around. You should leave me here Darlin’.”

“I won’t leave you, Hiero. You didn’t abandon me. I’m not going to abandon you.”

“You wanna die Darlin’?”

“Not particularly.” He smiles over at her, calmer than she’s seen him since they met. “You?”

She shakes her head and smiles back at him. “Not particularly. I guess we better make sure that doesn’t happen, then.”

He opens the door, mutters  _“I’m all for that”_  over his shoulder, and goes around to help her out of the car and into the church. Once they are inside the doors, Hiero leans against a pew in the back and looks around trying to decide on the best vantage point... until she sees Joshua watching her from the front pew.

“I see you did Bogart,” she says, trying to shift herself so that she is in front of MacAvoy.

“Oh yeah.” A satisfied smile spreads across his face.

“How did you know we’d be comin’ here?

“Saw you on the tracker. Not hard to figure out where you were headed... especially with a priest. I need your help, Hiero.” The man stands but makes no move toward them.

“With what, Joshua?”

“I’m gonna kill Powers.”

“Why?”

“He bought the hit.”

She tilts her head, watches him for a moment.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Joshua, I really do, but it’s never gonna happen. You know he’s too well protected.”

“That’s why I need your help.”

“I’m not sure we really have the time for all this.” The priest can tell she wants to reach for her gun, but she doesn’t... not yet. “What is it 10, maybe 15 minutes? Not much longer to talk this over, you know?”

“We have enough time for what I need.” He has a knife in his hand, but no gun, and the knife is down at his side. “I don’t want the money, Hiero. It’s yours. All I want is Powers.”

“Problem is...” she drawls, “for either one of us to get it, the other has to be dead.”

“Not necessarily.”

She cocks her head to one side, all her attention focused on the man in front of her. “I’m listenin’...”

“I don’t want to kill you, Hiero, I always liked you... but I need your tracker. That sorry French bastard got his out, no reason you can’t do the same.” He takes a slow step forward. “No cameras in here, no way for them to know.”

“And just what do you want it for?”

“A bomb.” Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she stares at him a long moment before breaking out into delighted laughter.

“Well, that is just brilliant!”

“Thought it might work.” He grins at her and moves closer.

“I would love to be there to see the look on his face when that cocky son-of-a-bitch realizes he’s about to blow into a million pieces.”

“That mean you’ll help me?”

She grins back. “Give me your account numbers, we got a deal.”

“You just gotta promise me you’ll give me time to finish this before you move the money.”

“I wouldn’t wanna mess this up for anything.” She shakes her head. “Time’s runnin’ out though... we need to get this done.”

She moves around the pew she’s been leaning against, and MacAvoy moves to help her sit, obviously reluctant to take himself out of the way as Joshua moves closer with the knife. 

The priest looks down at her. “Are you sure you can trust him?” She smiles at him and nods, curls bouncing, and he can’t help but smile back. “Alright.” He holds her eyes for another moment and then moves away as she raises the hem of her blouse to expose the scar at the base of her ribcage.

“Go ahead, Joshua.” She squeezes her eyes shut when the knife splits her skin and forces a pained  _“Fuck!”_  from between clenched teeth when he slips the tip of the blade inside the wound to scoop the tracker out, but it is done quickly. The thing blinks for a moment, then stutters out. Joshua closes it in his hand with a frightening smile then shoves the hand in his pocket, presses a slip of paper into her hand, and walks out of the church without another word.

Hiero winces, reaches down to tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of her already short skirt, and presses it against the freshly opened scar.

“We should get you to a hospital,” the priest says, moving to sit beside her.

“No!” She looks up at him. “No hospital. As far as anyone knows right now, Darlin’, I’m dead... and I’d just as soon stay dead. I doubt it’ll fool the Agency for too long once I start movin’ that prize money around, but it should buy me some time at least.”

He nods. “And just what is the price of human life these days?”

She rolls her eyes. “About ten million.”

He stares at her, mouth open, then shakes his head. “You’re in no condition to disappear just yet,” he says finally. “If you won’t let me take you to a hospital, at least let me take you somewhere you can rest until that ankle is better?”

She starts to shake her head, but then changes her mind and offers him a coy little smile instead. “I suppose that would be alright,” she drawls. “But we’re gonna have to wait here for a little while, make sure they’re done checking the satellite feed before we can go outside.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Of course we will.”

_________________________

He feels those striking blue eyes on him and looks over at the petite blonde to find her studying him with an intensity that should make him uncomfortable, but does nothing more than prompt an almost affectionate smile. 

“What?”

“Nothin’, Darlin’, just watchin’ you drive.”

“With that kind of scrutiny from a hitman, I should probably be terrified.” His tone is light, but it occurs to him that the statement is true. He’s seen first hand how deadly the woman can be, and she follows nothing that he can see other than some warped internal logic, which makes her both dangerous and unpredictable. 

She flashes him an indulgent smile and shakes her head.

“You should know by now you don’t need to be afraid of me.” She looks down and takes that bottom lip between her teeth again, bloody distracting habit, before glancing back up at him through her lashes with a playful little tilt of her head. “If you aren’t scared of me, then what are you exactly?”

He glances from the road to her and back, considering her question, but quickly decides that he does not like the answer and abandons that particular train of thought.

“That,” he announces, “is an inappropriate question for a priest.”

“The question’s only inappropriate if the answer is, Darlin’.” He brings his head around to look at her again, an almost challenging expression in her eyes and a smug smile playing across those red lips.

He shakes his head, brings his focus back to the road. “Try another one anyway.”

“Alright... how about where we’re goin’? That seems safe enough... even for a priest.” Best not to pay too much attention to the playful lilt in that honeyed drawl or the obvious amusement dancing in her eyes.

“I told you, someplace you can rest, get off that ankle for a day or two.”

She cocks her head to the side with a sly smile.

“Are you takin’ me home with you, Father?” 

__________________________

He helps her up the steps to the rectory and settles her on the sofa. He offers to help her upstairs to the bathroom, but she declines. 

“I’m not ready to try to stand on this ankle on wet tile just yet,’” she confesses. “Besides, you are covered in blood, and I’m sure it bothers you more than it does me.” She giggles at the look he gives her and makes shooing motions. “Go clean up Darlin’. You’ve got company.”

He should argue, but the truth is he would do just about anything for a hot shower right now, not to mention the bottle he keeps in the dresser at the foot of his bed. So he brings her ice for the severely swollen ankle, helps her prop it up on a pillow while trying not to notice the amount of beautifully exposed leg her new position reveals, and leaves her to go upstairs and clean himself up.

When he comes back down, freshly showered and fully dressed, she smiles and pats the cushion next to her. He goes to sit beside her without giving it any real thought and leans over to assess the extent of the damage from her run in with the Texan. She leans forward too, and he can feel her hand pushing his damp hair back from his face, her breath on his skin.

“Looks like that cut opened up again in the shower Darlin’.” She brings her mouth to his cheek, lips brushing along the cut, tongue flicking at the tiny trail of fresh blood, and he jerks back against the sofa cushions.

“What are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doin’,” she drawls, leaning forward and bringing her face back to his. “Isn’t that why you brought me back here?”

“You’re injured,” he stammers. “I thought you might need someone to take care of you...” He trails off as her lips brush his.

“Oh I do, Darlin’! I  _definitely_  need you to take care of me.”

Has it really been less than 36 hours since the petite blonde had almost killed him at his own altar? He’d been certain then that the worst that could happen would be getting killed in the bizarre contest he’d stumbled into, but now it seems he’s facing a temptation that threatens not his life but his soul... breaking his vows will surely cost him that. He is trying to remind himself that the lovely little thing intent on seducing him is a psychopath, but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on anything when she’s so very close. He’s only a man, after all, and a weak one at that. If he can’t even manage to keep himself away from a bottle, how can he possibly escape the attentions of the very determined seductress currently perched on top of him?

Somehow she has thrown a leg over him and is straddling his lap. He realizes that his hands have gone instinctively to her hips and jerks them away, holding them out on either side of her with his fingers splayed wide.

"I know you're a priest and all..." she begins, pausing to bite at her lower lip, "... but I just can't seem to help myself. You just get me so hot I can't stand it."  Her hips shift against him and he feels himself starting to harden underneath her. He should get up, force her off  his lap... but she feels so good. 

"Please." He'd meant to ask her to stop, but the low, ragged note in his voice means anything but that. 

When had his hands come back to her hips? He is shocked to realize he wants to slide them down, allow them to move to her thighs and push up that tiny little skirt so he can cup her ass and grind her against him.

Her mouth is brushing against his again, her breath warm and sweet at his lips and suddenly all he wants, it seems all he's  _ever_  wanted, is to taste her. Before he realizes what he's doing, his tongue has slipped out to run along that bottom lip she's always nibbling at and she breathes a needy moan into his mouth.

"Oh yes, Darlin'" She shifts against him and he groans and brings a hand up into her soft blonde curls to crush her mouth to his, his tongue sliding between her lips and his hips bucking up to meet her hers.

He feels her fingers at his throat, plucking at his collar, and tears his mouth from hers with a furious shake of his head.

"No," he gasps, "I can't do this." 

She giggles as she drops a hand down to stroke the bulge in his pants. "I'm pretty sure you can, Darlin'," she gives him a playful little squeeze, and he jerks up into her touch, "and we both know you want to."

“I’m a priest,” he croaks helplessly.

“I know that, Darlin’.” Her voice is pitched in a sultry whisper, and she increases the pressure of the hand in his lap, snatching his collar free with the other and flicking it back over her shoulder. “... but we don’t have to worry about that right now, do we?” She gives him another squeeze, and his eyes press shut with the strangled moan that it tears from his throat. Then her free hand is in his hair, tugging roughly to bring his head back so her mouth can cover his, and he can’t find it in himself to resist her any longer.

Suddenly her skirt is bunched at her waist, her flesh warm under his fingers when he grabs her ass and pulls her tight against him, and he is drinking in her hungry moans while she writhes on his lap. Her tongue is stroking his and the only thoughts in his head are  _more_  and  _closer_. He is all but unaware that she has effortlessly managed to undo his flies until he feels her hand close around him to pull him free, and bites down hard on her lip in an effort to avoid crying out. The metallic tinge floods his tongue, as hers chases her blood between his lips. She groans and reaches to tug aside the prim white lace of her panties with one hand while the other guides him into her, his hips thrusting up as she comes down on his cock. When he is buried in her completely, she rocks against him for a moment, but then goes still, leaning back to study his face while he trembles beneath her. She takes her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes follow the curve of his mouth, red lips curling at the briefest glimpse of his tongue.

“I’m guessing you haven’t done this in awhile, Darlin’, am I right?” She leans down and breathes the words into his ear, nipping at the lobe to punctuate the question. There’s an understatement... he has known several women, but that was before seminary, so long ago he barely remembers, and so removed from this aggressive little blonde, he wonders if they even qualify at all. He forces himself to focus enough to answer her, a faint  _“yes”_ that becomes a moan as she tightens herself around him. “We’re gonna have to slow this down or you are just not gonna be any good to me at all.” She giggles, the tip of her tongue flicking into his ear, and his fingers tighten over her hips. She pulls back just far enough to bring them face to face again, foreheads and noses touching, and cradles his head in her hands. “Breathe, Darlin’.” He does his best to focus on his breathing, to think of anything beyond how good she feels wrapped around him. He wants very much to last long enough to please her and knows that he doesn’t have a chance of it unless he brings himself under some kind of control.

Hiero tips her head back to look into his eyes. “Any second thoughts?” 

He shakes his head and offers her a breathless, “No,” which earns him a smile as she dips her head to nuzzle against his jaw. “Good,” she whispers. She tightens herself around him again, and he is convinced he’s going to lose his mind.

“Why...” he rasps, “why do you want me?”

She brings those striking blue eyes back to his and offers him a brilliant smile.

“Because, Darlin’,” she pants, “you are just about the cutest thing I have ever seen. I don’t think I could figure out how to keep my hands off you if I tried.”  Her hips shift just a fraction and she smiles when his breath hitches. 

She reaches down to cover his hands with hers and brings them up to the first button on her shirt, gasping when his knuckles graze her breasts.  _“Help me with these buttons.”_  Her breathing is shallow, teeth closed over her bottom lip again with her efforts to keep herself still. His breath matches hers, short sharp gasps, while his fingers fumble to undo her blouse and tug it free of her skirt. He does his best to concentrate on the task of slipping the fabric off over her shoulders instead of the expanse of bare skin he’s managed to expose, but once he’s tossed the garment away, he eagerly runs his hands up along her back until he reaches the strap of her bra... which appears to have no catch whatsoever. She shifts her hips again with a breathy giggle and reaches up to undo it in the front. The white lace falls open to reveal perfect breasts, and he lowers his mouth to one of them, drawing a tiny yelp from her when he takes the nipple between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. She bucks her hips against him and his hands go back to them to hold her still as he lavishes attention on her with his tongue and teeth. 

Her hands are tangled in his hair, her head thrown back, and her voice a needy growl when she speaks. "I'm pretty sure priests aren't supposed to know how to do that, Darlin'."

He chuckles and circles a tight nipple with his tongue before murmuring into the valley between her breasts.  "I wasn't always a priest." His tongue traces a lazy trail along her skin on his way back to illustrate his point with another nip of his teeth at her neglected breast. 

She rewards him with a strangled scream and tries to shift her hips again, but his hold is firm. This earns him a whimper and a beautiful little pout that turns into an evil grin when she tightens herself around his cock. She produces a breathy giggle when he thrusts up into her and leans forward to whisper in his ear. 

"I always give at least as good as I get...  _Father_."

He moves a hand from her hip to fist into her curls, tugging her head back so he can look into those beautiful blue eyes with an almost predatory smile. "I'll try to remember that." He pulls her to him, claiming her mouth with teeth more than lips and tongue - his pretty little assassin seems to like biting, after all - and groans his approval when she lifts herself up to plunge back down onto him. 

The hand tangled in her hair drops back to her hip, and he is once again holding her still in his lap. He brings his mouth to her ear, nuzzling into her hair. “I don’t think I need this shirt right now, do you?” He’s still almost fully clothed and can’t feel enough of her against his skin. She is all too happy to oblige, undoing buttons and tugging it off of him before running her hands over bare shoulders and down along his arms until she is grasping his wrists. Her hold on him forces her to arch her back slightly, jutting her breasts forward against his chest as she offers him a wicked grin, and the feel of her against his bare skin is more than enough to test his patience without the sudden scrape of her nails along his sides. Her hands move up across his ribs and his head falls back, allowing her access to his throat. She wastes no time in dipping her head to trail her lips and tongue over the sensitive skin there before nipping at the hollow while she flicks her nails over his nipples. The sound he makes is low and needy, and he feels her tongue trailing up along the side of his neck, forces himself to focus when he hears her breathy whisper.

“You never did tell me your name, Darlin’.”

“I’m sure I did,” he groans, “in the church.” And is this really the time for her to be concerned with proper introductions?

“Not your title, Father, your name.” He feels her teeth graze along his jaw. “When I scream for you, Darlin’, what name do you wanna hear?” The question and the throaty whisper she breathes across his skin is almost enough to make him come.

“Joseph, my name is Joseph.” 

She rewards him with a long, slow kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth as her hands play over his sides, feathery, teasing touches with just her fingertips dancing along his skin. He allows his hands to leave her hips, running them up over the soft skin of her back, teasing the sides of her breasts, and then slipping one between their bodies to find the tight bundle of nerves in her folds. He flicks a fingernail over her then pinches between thumb and forefinger, and she tears her mouth from his with a scream.

“Yes,” he hisses, his mouth finding the spot where neck meets shoulder. He’s merciless now that he’s discovered what she likes, his fingers moving over her while he worries the spot on her neck with his teeth, giving in to the desire to mark her. She grinds against him, one hand fisted in his hair, the other covering his between her legs, and screams his name when she comes, throwing her head back and pulling his hair hard enough to cause pain. The pain is all that keeps him from joining her when she clenches around him, and he is grateful for it. He lays his free hand along her cheek as she shudders, brushes sweat soaked curls away from her face, and marvels at how lovely she is.

When she finally relaxes against him, she guides the hand between her legs up and brings it to her mouth, her juices coating his fingers. Her tongue flicks out, tasting herself on his skin, and she runs it along the length of his fingers before closing her lips over them. He brings his mouth to hers and slips his own tongue between her lips, eager for a taste of her before she can suck him clean. She abandons his hand in favor of nipping at his lips, the tip of her nose brushing his as she tilts her head to one side and traces his smile with her tongue.

“Would you like to come, Joseph?” The sound of his name on her lips leaves him shaking. 

He isn’t sure he can form the words until he hears them escape him. “Oh God, yes!” 

Hiero smiles and locks her eyes onto his, then rests her hands on his shoulders and raises herself slowly until only the very tip of his cock is still inside her. She lowers herself back down onto him just as slowly, and his world shrinks to those brilliant blue eyes and the feel of sliding into her, hot and wet and tight. He makes a strangled sound deep in his throat when he is buried in her completely, and she lifts herself up again before she can fully settle onto his lap, moving with the same excruciating slowness. 

She is still holding his gaze, watching his eyes darken with each movement, breathing in his desperate little moans. His hands are resting along the tops of her thighs, just under her ass. He could grab her, force her down onto him, but he isn’t ready to end this delicious torture just yet. 

He is so very close. She raises herself again, and he can feel the muscles in her legs tremble with her efforts to keep her movements slow... and then with no warning she brings herself down hard and fast, slamming his cock up into her wet heat. He cries out - a desperate  _“Fuck!”_  - and his hands clench over her ass, pulling her tight against him, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise as he pours himself into her. 

She cuddles against him when he stills, nuzzling the side of his neck and placing open mouthed kisses along his skin. He wraps his arms around her, absently stroking her hair as his breathing settles out into a slow even rhythm. He lets his head fall back and closes his eyes concentrating on the feel of his fingers combing through her soft curls.

“I told you I wasn’t a very good priest,” he murmurs.

She giggles and nips at his throat. “You’re good at other things, Darlin’. Besides...” She runs the tip of her nose along the line of his jaw. “I sorta took that as an invitation.”

“Did you now?” He chuckles and turns his head to capture her mouth with his. “Tell me, Hiero, this fantasy of seducing a priest... is it an older one, or a recent development?”

Her face scrunches up in an adorable grin and she lowers her head, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s an old favorite, Darlin’.” She takes her lower lip between her teeth and looks up at him through her lashes. “But I woulda wanted  _you_  anyway.”

“Yes?” He brings a knuckle under her chin to tip it up so that he can claim another kiss. ”And what was the next step, if I hadn’t been so... cooperative, hmmm?”

“Oh well...” She shifts herself, sliding off of his lap to sit next to him and bringing her legs across his. “I thought I might take advantage of the sprain.” She allows her drawl to get just that much thicker and adds a sweeter quality to the timbre of her voice. “This ankle really is  _awfully_  weak, and I’m just not sure I could manage in a shower all by myself... what with all that wet tile and all? It could be downright dangerous.”

She looks at him, all wide eyes and mock innocence, and there it is... the image of the pretty little blonde wet from the shower, arms around his neck and body pressed against him. “Mmmm,  _very_  dangerous,” he agrees, his voice low and a little rough, fingers brushing lazily across the nape of her neck. “You’ll have to let me help you when you’re ready to go upstairs.”


End file.
